


Pools of Blue Times Two

by saverockyroad



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: CEO!Markus, F/M, Fluff, Fowler is their boss, Housekeeper!Simon, M/M, Receptionist!North, Simon feels bad the entire time, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Swimming Pools, also he and north eventually get together because i’m a sucker for connorth, and loves to draw, and markus’ is manfred obv, and north? idk...callanan, basically north and simon have an understanding, but not that slow!, connor anderson is a thing but hankcon is not :), connor is honestly awful, he’s a real killjoy to the simarkus, hotel au, kara is williams, lots of simon lusting over markus in a suit, markus has earrings, markus is there on a business trip!, nothing you can do about it y’all, oh and btw simon’s last name is phillips, pool shenanigans ensue, simon is a housekeeper at a hotel!, they lust over the guest in room 248
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:39:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saverockyroad/pseuds/saverockyroad
Summary: Seeing room number 247 made Simon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He knocked once, twice, and even three times on the hard oak before giving up. He bent down to shove the card under the door with yet another knock when he heard a sound.The door next to him—number 248–-flew open, the hinges squeaking in protest as it hit the wall beside him. It confused Simon, as the doors were designed to be heavy to keep the temperature stable to the guest’s liking in the room. As the figure appeared in the doorway and took two steps out, Simon immediately mirrored him with two steps back.Oh.(better known as the hotel au where simon low key falls in love with a guest) (who wouldn't if they looked like markus?)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to my personal hell—aka all i’ve been thinking about since like....two weeks ago when i started writing and planning this monstrosity.
> 
> i’m cowriting this with a dear friend of mine so hopefully between the two of us we can figure some general plot things out >:)
> 
> yell at me on tumblr! jerichohno.tumblr.com is where i call my home!

There had been a few things that Simon had learned since he started working at the hotel. For starters, guests put a great deal of importance on folded towel animals and chocolates on their pillows. Simon suffered through a surprising amount of complaints due to guests receiving one chocolate instead of two or North folding their towel elephant incorrectly. Secondly, Simon learned who his allies are. Too many times had Simon confided in coworkers that turned out to be people that he knew he couldn’t trust. Far too often did Simon end up getting his heart stepped on because he trusted someone far too easily. But last and most importantly, never let anyone get away with stealing the toiletries. Simon would check their room and send them a bill in the mail if he had to, because Fowler wasn’t going to let any of his dollars spent on tiny soaps and lilac shampoo go to waste and Simon wasn’t keen on his pay being docked so an upper class family could have a few free drugstore travel bars. Anyone who forgot those details was in for a earful from their greedy, grouchy manager. Fowler, the longtime owner of the hotel, was a dark skinned man in his 50s with a shiny, bald scalp hidden underneath his bowler hat and a bulbous nose to perfectly compliment his bulging stomach. A cigar was forever perched between his lips and he wore the same patchy three-piece suit in variants of brown, grey, and navy blue to work every day. Simon never forgot his lectures, mainly because Fowler would surely fire him if he did.

Today, Simon had the displeasure of learning a new unspoken rule—never bust into the office just before midnight on a Friday evening. The sounds of key cards flying across the small room was just enough to keep any of his coworkers from entering for a mere 5 minutes—just enough time to get in and out without his boss crushing him to pieces. He would tend to the mess he made on a later date, but now, he needed to make amends with room number 247.

  
Simon worked at a four star hotel that somehow, despite it’s overpriced rooms and intricate designs, was able to draw in those that are just stopping by as a halfway point on some cross country road trip. The guests of this category tonight was a family of five - the typical mother, father, and their snot-nosed children. As soon as the family stepped into the lobby, Simon knew they were going to be a handful. Three small children, hair mussed and jagged smiles wide, immediately bolted as soon as they saw the pool through the large glass windows. North, Simon’s coworker and longtime ally, had tried to corral them into staying back with their parents—for supervision purposes, of course. But they slipped around and between her legs, crumpling her black apron as it sat low on her waist. She turned quickly to the parents who had not moved since entering the building, their eyes shut, brows furrowed, and jaw slack. It was the look of pure frustration and blatant exhaustion, albeit a little concerned for where their children were headed.

  
One bumped into a frail housekeeper who had just crossed the hall, a spray bottle and rag in hand. Not one of the kids provided an apology. And although the woman had been shaken up, she paid no mind to the fact. They were simply excited kids who got to stay up past their bedtime.

  
North yelled down the hallway a quick, “Slow down!” before straightening her apron and returning to her place back at the front desk. Her hair had fallen from its usual place on her shoulder to her upper back, the hair tie long since keeping it in place.

  
She took a breath before turning to the disgruntled couple, “Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” North said in her most kind voice, one that she used only when she had to.

  
The two set down their things on the nearest couch cushion, the wires and springs squealing in protest. As soon as the papers were signed and returned along with their credit card, all three children emerged from the outside door. They were soaking wet from head to toe, their shoes still on their feet. The noise that resonated through the lobby pierced Simon’s ears as soon as he entered the area. The east wing’s floors were all vacuumed for the night and he was about to clock out when he heard the commotion in the lobby. It had been hours since they last had someone walk through those doors.

“The lady by the pool told us we couldn’t swim!” The tallest boy said to his mother who only tilted her head slightly at their soaked appearances. Simon glanced quickly at North who was practically fuming at the sight of the water dripping off of their clothes and onto the floor. Her fists were clenching at her sides and he felt his feet moving towards her before he could do anything else.

“I’ll handle it. The vacuum is still out in the east wing, I can stay a little while longer.” Simon whispered into the back of her head. She immediately calmed, placing her manicured brown fingernails back onto the marble countertop.

The mother immediately turned to North, the unpleasant frown blazoned across her features was all that she could focus on. _Here we go again_ , she thought, _the start of another argument that I can’t win._

“And why would that be?” The woman directed her comment to her child while staring North directly in the eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed enough to show a deep crease between her eyelids. It showed her age, but also how worn she was at the moment.

North took a deep sigh. “Its company policy not to use the pool and patio after 10pm,” The woman opened her mouth in protest, “but you could always come back tomorrow morning when it opens.”

“I just think that it’s quite unreasonable, don’t you agree, Jeremy?” The woman put on a small smirk as she looked at her significant other who just nodded. He looked worn out. Lost. “I believe that we should be able to be the judge of that. It’s not hurting anyone else, is it now?” The woman smiled like she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Simon glanced at North’s eyebrows creasing just before he could slip away into the east wing to grab the vacuum and other cleaning supplies. North went through enough torture in one day working as the secretary, she didn’t deserve to be torn apart any more than she already had.

It wasn’t until he heard muffled yelling through the thin walls did he even think to appear back into the lobby. He was at the ready with his rubber gloved-hands, knuckles white around the handles of the equipment. He was ready to apologise with the same blank expression and tone he had always used when a situation like this arose. Always repeating the same apology he knew verbatim, maybe even offering a quick smile to make it look genuine. Simon hadn’t been trying to sound like he didn’t care, he had just been so mentally exhausted by a full shift that being sincere wouldn’t come like it usually did. It wasn’t like him to act so uninterested, but thankfully the time never came. The voices quieted down.

He had been expecting North to have resolved the situation, sending the couple and their children back to their room for the night. Instead he saw a backpack and blanket drag around the corner of the hall, stomping echoing out through the corridor and into his ears. A quick glance towards the front desk showed North with her head in her hands, fingernails dug deep into her scalp. Her shoulders shuddered with a deep breath.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can take this,” she sounded completely serious, but Simon had heard her say the exact same sentence countless times before. “one of these days I’m gonna snap and make a fool of myself.”

“Oh come on, North. A couple terribly insistent guests isn’t all it's going to take to stop you,” Simon made his way over to the puddle of water, plugging in the wet/dry vacuum. “You’ve been here for longer than me. There’ve been worse.”

North drew in another deep breath, removing her hands from her hair and turning around. She exited the desk area after closing out the programs on the computer.

“I’m going to head out. The keys are in the office with Fowler.” she didn’t respond to his comments about previous guests, and he was fine with it. He knew she was done with the entire situation.

She made her way over to the coat rack and grabbed her jacket. She pushed open the door before taking a step and pausing. Simon looked up from where he was working on drying the carpet.

“Can you do me a huge favor?” Simon immediately shook his head, “Can you give them a coupon? I don’t think doing nothing will be very helpful on their review.” And with that, she was gone.

And that is how Simon got into the mess in the first place. Entering the office where their boss stayed was going to be difficult because of the time, especially because he was asking for a coupon. What would be more hospitable, a free pizza from the diner in town or a reduced price massage from one of the nice ladies in their department? Simon went with the latter purely because he had made a bet with Kara about how many referrals he could get. Simon would never tell her that he picked the most tight and upstrung families to send to her, but he was sure that she could tell.

The mess he made in an attempt to escape the room was another story in itself.

After getting yelled at by Fowler, Simon had only one objective in mind before he head out for his quaint and quiet apartment. The massage card held loosely in his grip was all that held him to the present as he drug his feet down the long, carpeted hallway. At the end he could barely make out the light of the exit sign, more or less read it. Simon needed to get his eyesight checked up on before long, he’s spent countless years pushing the appointments farther back.

A stain on the carpet near door 216 made the neverending checklist in his mind lengthen with yet another task for tomorrow.

As the 240’s came into view, he looked from each set of rooms to the next—the dark brown doors seemed to blend into one another seamlessly. How he had never noticed the braille underneath each room number also baffled him.

Seeing room number 247 made Simon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He knocked once, twice, and even three times on the hard oak before giving up. He bent down to shove the card under the door with yet another knock when he heard a sound.

The door next to him—number 248–-flew open, the hinges squeaking in protest as it hit the wall beside him. It confused Simon, as the doors were designed to be heavy to keep the temperature stable to the guest’s liking in the room. As the figure appeared in the doorway and took two steps out, Simon immediately mirrored him with two steps back.

He was tall, but maybe half an inch shorter than Simon was himself. Dark, tanned skin fell over his broad shoulders where a wrinkled white unbuttoned dress shirt sat tight on them. The sleeves hugged his biceps snugly, and Simon was glad he hadn’t seen his face yet otherwise he probably wouldn’t have made it out of the corridor alive.

The man was completely overtaken by the cellphone pressed to his right ear, not even having noticed Simon was there in the first place. A silver ring was wrapped around his thumb, holding the phone in place. He must have been talking to someone important, so Simon excused himself before he made that much more of a fool.

He had only made it about ten steps down from where he came from before hearing the man’s smooth voice from over his shoulder. Simon turned around too fast, he assumed. The man’s eyes widened at his action before removing the phone from his ear and covering the microphone with his palm. His other arm rested on the windowsill that looked out into the patio and pool.

The man had finally faced him, and although Simon was not close enough to see the small details of his face, he could distinctly make out the heterochromia in his eyes and the freckles that dusted his nose and cheekbones. Oh no. _Oh no_.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the entrance to the pool is? I need some fresh air.”

All air escaped Simon’s lungs as he stuttered through his response, “Down the hall. There’s a entrance about twenty feet from the end of the corridor. It's hard to miss.”

The man smiled and Simon glanced down. He had a tight white tank top on under the dress shirt that hug his figure perfectly—providing little to the imagination. The black slacks weren’t extraordinary, but it gave him quite the _expensive_ look otherwise.

He mouthed a thank you before turning back to the windowsill, continuing the conversation with whomever was on the other side. Simon hadn’t moved an inch yet, too stunned to even think about making a move to leave. A flash of a blue eye his way kicked him into high gear, speeding down the hallway and back into the lobby. He was glad North hadn't been there to torment him about his red face.

Simon knew one thing for sure as he peeled back the curtains in the lobby, peering into the patio. He will be the one to torment North about the man in room 248. And there he lay on the reclining pool chair, dress shirt abandoned on the concrete and tile floor with his cellphone pressed to his ear tightly.

Simon didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t supposed to be out there past 10PM, but Simon would make an exception. Just once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the wait. I have school.  
> Also we changed the first couple paragraphs in chapter one to be quite a bit better, so if you want to go back and read that, I probably would!  
> (please scream at me in the comments for errors. we just kinda go with the flow in writing and dont really look for errors.)

The walk through the back parking lot is the same as it always is. The potholes that litter the employee spaces had always bothered them, even though management had never even thought to bring it up in their monthly meetings. Simon had rolled his ankle once or twice, effectively putting him in a brace for a week that North would never let him down for. He would let it slide, if his clumsiness was seen as a humorous topic then he couldn’t help but laugh at it himself.

Kara at his side babbled about uniforms and small, personal towels, wondering how cheap the hotel had to be to give guests knock-off Ralph Lauren’s. Her enthusiasm on the topic kept the one-sided conversation going well into the building.

Simon enjoyed his job, he really did. There was always something different about each day spent working that it didn’t seem monotonous. In his first week on the job, he spent each minute of it running down and back through the halls to each room that needed his help. An entire football team, actually. He swore he had never seen so many sweaty gym bags in his life--and although he was convinced that they would stay in their rooms all night, especially after a big game like they had, he couldn’t be any more wrong. The twenty-four hour gym that was housed at the end of the east wing was occupied at all hours in the night. His usual clock out time of around 11:30 was off to a rough start, as he stayed well into the early hours of the morning that entire weekend. When the team left, the entire staff’s breaths collectively were let go. Simon was traumatized, but learned of the hardships of working there at a very early time--and he was grateful for it. He was also grateful for Kara for filling all the silent moments in his day.

He used to crave silence. The yelling, screaming, of his home life and work were a dangerous concoction. A perfect cocktail built for destruction. At this point in life, he tried not to think about his time before renting his first apartment--the one he is in now. Stepping into the grave silence of the empty, resonating rooms will always make him feel...disconnected. After the first month of working, he finally got the confidence to ask Kara and North to hang out at his place. Ever since hearing their loud, booming laughs coming from the living room while he prepared sandwiches made him dread the moments when silence overtook him. It made him want to pick up an instrument, his phone, or something else that could occupy the echoing rooms.

Simon held the back door open for Kara after swiping his badge on the card reader.

“Did you know in college I worked at a laundromat?” Kara said, offering her hand towards Simon who slid off his dark grey jacket. She hung them up in their respective lockers—which were ironically free from locks at all. “I was broke. People left stuff in the dryers all the time. None of us ever admitted to taking the stuff, but we were all college students. Of course we stole some.”

Kara glanced at the corkboard to the right and immediately turned back to her locker, pulling out a small slip of paper. She pinned it to the board and took a step back, admiring the wall of compliments from months of guests. Each note, good or bad, was pinned up by all the housekeepers and staff when they were found in their rooms. Usually they were praises from tidying after they go out, but some complaints were always received.

“My dorm was filled with fleece blankets before long. My roommate was so jealous in the wintertime.” They stepped out of the break room and started towards the lobby to clock in. Simon glanced quickly out the glass to the pool, seeing a cleaning lady sweeping the patio. His eyes instantly locked onto three children. “But my years in college were useless, I guess. I have a degree in accounting—not massage.”

Kara caught onto Simon’s gaze out the window, following his sight line to the children. Two young boys splashed about in the shallower end, their seemingly younger sister sat on the edge with her toes in the water. Simon raised a finger to the glass suddenly.

“I had an encounter with their parents last night,” Simon began, his finger quickly sliding down and returning to its usual spot a his side. “North wouldn’t let them into the pool because it was late. Kids refused, parents threw a tantrum about their decisions.”

“They got into the pool anyway, tracked a bunch of water into the lobby and, my God, I swear that was the closest I’ve ever seen North to quitting—right then and there.”

Kara chuckles like she always does when North threatens her departure. Her eyes even rolled back into her head for a split second at the mention of her name. They continued their walk down the seemingly endless carpeted hallway, the doors to each room blurring into each other in his mind.

“North didn’t want her rating to go down even more than it already had so you _might_ be getting a visit from a nice young couple later this afternoon. Maybe they’ll bring their kids around to wait in the lobby.” Simon bumped his shoulder into Kara’s as they arrived to their destination. She looked unsure as if to be grateful for providing her business or filled with dread because of how Simon described their actions last night.

“Fowler wasn’t happy about it. I kind of made a mess with the cards in his office. I had meant to go back and clean it up that night, but…”

It was breakfast, so their coworkers were hard at work staffing the machines and restocking cereals and fruit. North had even abandoned her spot at the front desk and was helping out with the guests. She had on an apron and a funky hat that didn’t quite sit right on her head. Her eyes locked with Simon’s right when he smirked at her image.

“Can it, Phillips.” North snarled.

Simon let out a laugh that Kara instantly joined in on. He had already begun to get nervous about the eventual encounter with Fowler, especially when he realized that he would have to bring up why he had run out of work so fast afterwards.

“You’d think that he’d actually be happy about giving me work to do,” Kara muttered after making her way over to the front office to clock in. “After all, he doesn’t pay me to just stand around.”

“Fowler’s just too much of a cheapskate to lose money on just about anything. Surprised he actually cashed that check in from the city to pay for the leaky bathroom pipes in 177. Then again, the check _was_ there in the first place because we lowered our electricity usage by twenty-five percent.”

Kara shook her head, entering the cracked door of the office. Simon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, as Fowler would never leave the door unlocked and opened while he was inside. He blindly followed Kara into the small room, watching her feet as they stepped onto the worn brown shag rug. Simon almost ran full force into her back as she stopped all movement to stare with wide eyes at who occupied the space. He had been expecting Fowler to be there ready to reprimand him for...whatever he did.

He had soft, doe-like eyes that flickered on the edge of shock when Kara asked who he was. Simon hoped that that young, innocent appearance would stay that way forever, but it quickly morphed into quite the opposite: furrowed brows knit tightly into a line, strong cheekbones seemingly pointed down to his tight frown. The man looked Kara up and down before his dark eyes ever even thought to look at Simon who was glancing up from over her shoulders. In an impossible attempt to further his annoyed--and quite disappointed--features, the man stumbled over to the desk and hastily set down the stack of cards that were cradled in his hands. All air rushed out of Simon when the man peered out from under his eyelashes at him--his eyebrows falling from their aghast position on his forehead. Simon had already felt the heat of his glare.

“So it _was_ you who did this last night.” The man had finally taken the time to turn to them face on, the nametag that was so meticulously placed on his left breast read _Connor_ in big, bold, slanted lettering. Fowler definitely hadn’t written that, and it just so happened to be that he recognized the print almost immediately. North.

Simon had gone to answer him, but he stood with his mouth agape. He tried to form some sort of apology--maybe an accusation or excuse--for why he had run out without clocking out _or_ coming back to clean up. But in all honesty, Simon didn’t exactly know why he had done it in the first place. It was all an enigma to him. He didn’t want to think about it now, especially with two big, brown eyes staring him down from where he stood: still behind Kara _like a coward._

“Before you come up with some awful excuse to why, I checked the surveillance this morning. Wasn’t sure if it was really you, though. North wouldn’t give me much of anything,” The way _Connor_ said North’s name, as if it had been on his tongue for far longer than it had been frustrated Simon to no end. How he could say her name without any emotion in it. Stone cold and rigid, a slight raspiness and growl to the way he talked. Simon wasn’t sure if that was his normal voice or just his accusatory one—both were certainly terrifying.

It took Kara glaring at him to shake him out of his trance, a quick ceremony of prayer running through his mind during Connor’s staring contest. A jolt shot through Simon, his mind running on autopilot as soon as he got the chance to apologize. Well, a form of an apology that didn’t _actually_ involve the word “sorry.”

“You didn’t have to clean that up, you know.” Simon muttered. He peeled himself off of Kara’s backside, immediately rummaging through the drawer that Connor had opened. Finding an old rubber band next to the hole punch, he tied Fowler’s stack of cards together, replacing their spot in an envelope on his desk. Simon was replaying the incident last night on repeat through his mind. This was only his to worry about.

Kara sensed the discomfort, and almost _awkwardness,_ from both sides and stepped in herself.

“So, uh, _Connor._ When did you start?” Kara’s eyebrows furrowed, the name foreign on her lips. Connor made a move to open his mouth to reply but it quickly snapped shut when--just outside the doorway--the front desk’s phone started blaring.

Connor instantly made a move to answer it, pushing both Simon and Kara out of the way for him to get by. He stops short when he hears North’s customer service voice ring out in the silence. Simon silently thanks her for picking up before his newfound rival.

“Good morning. How can I be of service?” North breathes into the phone, now tucked under her chin. She takes off the hat that once loosely sat upon her head and sets it on the marble countertop. A few seconds of silence wash over them all in the room, glances being thrown around between them.

North makes noncommittal grunts and simple agreements during the call. She seemed almost bored—picking at her fingernails and typing something into the computer. Simon saw her open the guest database and scroll through ample rows of names and information. Finding the one she was looking for, she opens it up and immediately begins to enter in their requests and who will be by to assist them. She leaves that box blank.

She gives a quick thank you to whomever was on the other end, assuring that they’d send someone down within the next five minutes to assist them. The phone returns to its spot on the countertop with a loud click.

“248’s microwave just went out. Simon, could you please go down there and check it out?” Simon stands in pure shock. “Check on 247 while you’re at it. Not sure if they’re coming out of the room at all today.”

The room number. The man emerging from the room late last night. Simon swore he dreamt of his eyes, they wouldn’t rid themselves of Simon’s consciousness no matter how hard he tried. But now, Simon stood at a definite standstill, Kara nudging his shoulder softly. He couldn’t move. North stood in the doorway staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. She had brown winged eyeliner on today, perfectly matching the color painted on her lips. Maybe if he focused on that enough he could possibly tone everything else out and dissolve into thin air. That would be just what he wanted right now.

“...Even though their children are having the time of their lives out there.”

_Risk embarrassing himself again? Not something he’s very fond of right now—it already happens enough on a daily basis._

Simon must have taken too long to make a decision because Connor quickly brushes past him, striding up next to North asking about details of the man’s request. The make, the model, the watts, the wiring, the control panels. Anything to make it easier on him to repair or replace it. The microwaves in the king suites were notoriously faulty, and Simon is ninety-nine percent certain he knows what the problem is before looking at it. He could go in there quickly, not making any sort of eye contact, and be out of there in five minutes tops. He could do it. But what made him overthink it? North’s eyes lingered on Simon’s for more than it should have when Connor brushed up against her. Had he been the one to walk forward, her eyes wouldn’t be half-lidded and there wouldn’t be the large crease between her eyebrows. His feet stuck in the ground. It wasn’t quicksand but something very similar. Cement.

Connor walked away towards the west wing and the 200s. North glanced one more time at Simon. Kara kept quiet, her hand on Simon’s forearm. The computer still open on the document. Simon squints—an eye appointment already scheduled for three PM tomorrow. He mustn’t. The computer mouse shines in the fluorescent lighting of the lobby. It’s all too overwhelming of a feeling.

He strides over to the computer and scrolls up without hesitation.

_Markus Manfred - Room 248 - Business class stay [EXTENDED] - Aug 6–indefinite_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE ive had it written for like a month but never posted it whoooops sorry

 

The sheer amount of people clothed in professional sport coats and suits entering the hotel at that moment made North’s eyes widen with fear. A tinge of determination to keep them occupied was well apparent in her desires. They had announced their entrance and objective immediately, asking North to check the conference room bookings at once. Free from noon to midnight. It wasn’t used often.

Having pushed Simon away from the computer and away from the man’s file, only one task remained in his mind. It was slowly becoming less and less likely it would be completed as Connor’s footsteps echoed further into the west wing and towards the 200s. Simon heard Kara’s soft but concerned voice ring out behind him--a quiet  _ Wait, where are you going? _ He stepped out from behind the desk and quickly fell into a pace that would surely lead him to confrontation before Connor would lay one hand on 248’s door. His plan for the microwave in question was already set out in his mind: unhinge door, access motherboard, diagnose the problem, find solution, order new part, apologise to Markus for such an inconvenience, re-address the door and screw back into place, apologize again to Markus for entering his personal space, and finally, leave without a trace. It was simple. He had done the same thing a thousand times before, but this time it was different, somehow. This time, he was nervous—something that he hadn’t been for a very long time. Nervousness was something Simon assured himself would never overtake him again. It was a childish situation, one that was quite selfish of him, but he felt himself drawn to the room. 

Simon’s footsteps were becoming painfully apparent in the quiet, echoing hallway. There were three turns from the lobby to the 240‘s, and as he passed each one he became all the more disgruntled. He really hadn’t thought this one through.

Seeing Connor at the end of the hallway in his loose-fitting black slacks and white dress shirt and tie was definitely a relief, as he hadn’t made it to the doorway yet. Simon needed a distraction—he needed something that would get Connor out of his way, even if it only gave him a moment more in the room. Something only the industrious Connor would be happy to receive.

His eyes traveled effortlessly down to the toolbag in his right hand.

“Connor!” Simon called out down the claustrophobic tan walls. Connor’s head spun back to meet his eyes, a single curl following close behind to rest on his forehead. If he wasn’t so stone cold Simon might even call his features endearing. “Fowler wants to see you in his office at once.”

“For what reason?” Connor tilted his head to the side carefully and with perfect precision. A calculated motion that made him appear five years his junior—tactical necessity when approached with guests. 

Simon shrugged, “He didn’t look upset. I could only imagine that he might want to talk about this morning,” he fought off an eyeroll. It was progress, if anything.

Connor seemed to like that answer, a miniscule smirk appeared on the corner of his lips while his eyes crinkled. He suddenly reached up and readjusted his shirt, tightening his collar and tie. With his chin a millimeter higher than normal, he handed off the toolbag to Simon. The two in the hallway wore the exact same outfit, but one of them did not find any confidence from it—quite the opposite, really. Simon felt the collar tighten around his neck, constricting his voice and airflow. He tugged on it as he turned towards the door and back at Connor who had already made it to the first of three turns. Connor wasn’t nervous, was he? He shouldn’t be. He hadn’t already embarrassed himself once to the man behind this door, and the thought of him in the snug tank top and dress shirt had already begun to make his pulse race. This was a bad idea. Quite the terrible idea indeed. Simon said a little prayer to any higher beings above before lifting his frail fingers to the door knocker right below the rusted numbers. His usually cold hands were sweaty and in dire need of a rag, but before he could wipe his palm on his pant leg, the door flew open. 

A quick flashback to last night appeared in his mind before he had even begun to take in the figure standing before him. 

A robe, one of the standard issue ones that reside in the small bedside closets was draped over his shoulders. There were a few loose strands that stuck out due to years of prior use. Simon didn’t like thinking about how many other people have worn that same robe, and he wasn’t fond of the images that suddenly appeared in his head as well. As he slowly raised his eyes to look at him fully, Simon noticed his lack of shoes and socks. His eyes were practically glued to the hair that stuck to his leg, droplets of water were still running down them. The dewy skin of his chest that peeked through the panels of fabric were all too much. Simon tore his eyes away. 

The man’s voice caught him off guard, and although he had heard it for the first time the night prior, the raspiness and richness of its tone reminded Simon of a chorus--or maybe an angel in disguise. Smooth, caramel undertones swept him off the feet that glued him to the present. Simon was quite certain that if Markus were to sing, he would sound incredible

“Didn’t know you would get here so quickly. I wouldn’t have taken a shower if I had known.” Markus’ voice had a slight edge to it that sent a shiver down Simon’s spine. A delicious mixture of want and need swelled up inside him. What was this feeling? He hadn’t felt something quite like this in years, if not decades. Simon didn’t necessarily had a decent love life, forever wishing it would be different.

“It's alright though. I don’t mind. Hey, weren’t you the guy I talked to last night?” Simon froze as he bent down to pick up a screw that fell out of the bag rested on his hip. Simon didn’t want to think about last night, as embarrassing as it was. He just stood with his mouth agape, a slight panic pulsing through his veins. 

“Ah—yes, I was. Hopefully I wasn’t interrupting anything. I hadn’t meant to.” Simon said carefully. He enunciated the words with a slow precision, afraid to misspeak. Markus shook his head.

“It’s okay,” Markus stepped aside, gesturing into his room. It was a king suite, copied and pasted like the fourteen other rooms with the same layout. Outside the window was the pool and patio, currently unoccupied—even with maintenance. ne large bed was pressed up against the wall to the left, a kitchenette and bathroom tucked neatly in the corner. Across the room, a desk and tall dresser stood adjacent to the loveseat and coffee table where two pillows were lying gently on the floor. The colors were earthy and dark, with green accents on the bed and lampshades. Markus’ bed seemed untouched at the moment, so either he hadn’t slept in it (most likely) or someone had already been by to remake it (almost impossible due to the time.) Now that he looked at him fully, Simon did notice the dark bags that caressed his cheekbones, the light heterochromic eyes that were inset with shadows. A tinge of defeat struck Simon, something that should have never even crossed him to begin with. “I was on the phone with one of my coworkers. The situation is resolved though—only took a couple hours of prying.” 

The deep chuckle that resonated through the room was like music to Simon’s ears. How much he wanted to take a seat on the edge of the bed and melt into the fabric just listening to the tenor wavelengths. The realization about why he was there in the first place kicked Simon back into high gear. He strode over to the microwave that sat quietly in the small kitchenette without a second thought. The toolbag was now set on the marble counter and was already pried open and being looked through. Markus shut the door without a sound.

“So, what seemed to be the problem with it?” Simon turned around oh his heel, his black non-slip work shoes felt incredibly inferior to the large collection that was placed near the right nightstand. Brown, black, and white. Matte, glossy, and downright immaculate. Each pair was different from the rest in their own way. Markus must not have caught Simon staring at them and he was glad for it. 

“I was getting ready for my meeting when I realized that I was low on time. I tried to warm up some leftovers...but nothing would work. I even tried the different outlets but nothing would even make the damned thing turn on.” Markus gestured with his hands, pointing to the different outlets he tried on the walls. Simon was half tempted to test them again like he always would, but something in him stopped him from even doing even that. Simon tried not to think about it too hard.

Simon grunted noncommittally, hoping that Markus would take it as a sign of thought and pondering and not of being unsure of the cause to the problem. Simon was  _ sure  _ not even twenty minutes ago of the root of the issue, but now as he stands in the kitchen of someone so intimidating, he’s getting second thoughts. He had never been a handyman. He wasn’t even sure that if Fowler ever were to quiz him on the difference between a phillips head and a flathead screwdriver he would pass. A new task arose on his never-ending to-do list: learn how to speak in Tools. Guys liked that, right?

But now a new factor was introduced in the repair: time. Markus was running a bit behind on his meeting, the microwave proving to be quite the issue in his morning. 

“Are you sure I’m not slowing you down even more? I can come back later today if that is better for your schedule.” Simon informed him. Markus’ only reply was a slightly jerky head shake, a dismissive hand wave following right in its footsteps. Markus turned around and started towards the closet, taking out a hangar seemingly at random. He pulled out a dark grey sportcoat with matching slacks, a white button-up shirt tucked neatly between them. Markus looked at them intently before setting it on the un-creased sheets of the king bed. 

“They won’t care that I’m late anyways.” Simon had expected the tone following that sentence to be dismal, but it was quite the opposite. With the shrug that accompanied it, Markus truly looked like he didn’t care. 

Simon took that moment to get back to the main reason he was there in the first place. 

The door to the microwave was where he started, twisting the tiny screws off from the side panel of the appliance. Having the door on for working on the inner panels provided rough access and terrible sightlines, so the best option was to remove it entirely for the repair. Once each screw fell onto the countertop, Simon pushed them into a small pile, counting them and writing down their description and amount onto the complementary notepad. There had already been something written on the pad, so without looking at the handwriting, Simon gently tore it off and set it on the nightstand. He looked up to where Markus had been, but he had since vanished in that small amount of time. The suit still sat on the bed, but this time there were two ties placed haphazardly next to it. Simon made a move to look at them better, but a sound emerging from the bathroom caused him to jump and practically run back to the kitchenette. His heart picked up slightly, back bent over awkwardly in an attempt to look like he had been working the entire time.

Markus strode out of the bathroom with the sleeve of his robe covering half his face. Simon looked at him out of the corner of his eye when he sat the unhinged microwave door on the counter, careful not to knock the screws onto the floor. He surely wouldn’t find them all if he did. Markus finished wiping his mouth with his sleeve when he returned to his spot beside the bed, admiring the clothing in front of him. One side of his robe was pulled out farther, revealing a large opening to his chest.

Simon popped open the internal panel on the microwave hoping to find the issue in plain sight. No such luck came across his as he tinkered with the wiring. 

Markus’ voice startled him after around five minutes of silent work, hoping to diagnose the problem. 

“Could you give me your honest opinion, uh—“ Markus started, gesturing towards him but not looking at him. 

“Simon.” 

“Right, yeah, Simon. I’m sorry I never asked your name,” Simon looked down to his chest to find his nametag missing.  _ Shit.  _

The way Markus said his name rolled off his tongue nicely. It made the corner of Simon’s mouth twitch up into a smirk. Their eyes finally locked, and Simon was glad his hands were occupied in the appliance otherwise Markus might have seen how much they shook. He picked up the two ties and held them in the air for Simon.

“Which do you think looks better? You look like someone who might know a little more than me.” 

_ Wait, what is that supposed to mean? _ Simon’s eyebrows furrowed. He waited half a beat to answer, processing what Markus said.

“I-I, uh--I’m not at liberty to say, sir.” Simon stumbles out when he looks up from his place in the kitchen. The white robe Markus is wearing is a stark contrast to his dark, tanned skin. There is a tiny logo etched into the breast pocket that immediately draws Simon’s eye. A logo that Simon has seen hundreds of times—on his application, his uniform, his paycheck. Something that, only now, does he finds to have an all new meaning. It only took five years.

The two ties are both shades of blue, one more turquoise than the other. Simon wants to make a comment about how they would both bring out his eyes, especially against the dark grey suit he has lying on the edge of the bed. Simon quickly turns back to his work on the control panel on the inside of the microwave, hoping that Markus didn’t catch his eyes lingering on him for a split second too long. 

“You can give me your opinion, you know. There isn’t any rule against that. I’m sure of it,” Markus turns away from the edge of the bed, his eyes flickering between the two ties. He sets both on the undershirt that is tucked between the lapels of the sportcoat. It’s fascinating, and Simon’s gaze seems to travel to Markus’ movements once again. He tries so hard not to look at the robe that is tightly wrapped around his shoulders. He also tries hard not to look at his toned chest that peeks out between the inner edges. “I won't get offended if you choose the turquoise one, by the way. I actually quite like that one.” 

Simon is puzzled by the interaction. The entire situation is weirdly domestic: Simon, sitting on the floor fixing an appliance while Markus, wrapped in a robe, asks for Simon’s opinion on what tie he should wear to an upscale business meeting. His mind immediately runs with the idea, seeing them in twenty years with a home of their own, maybe a dog or a cat rubbing against their ankles. Simon hates the daydreams and how they turn him to mush. His hands shake. He turns back to his work. He doesn’t answer.

Markus huffs, returning to the bathroom. When he returns he is wearing the dark grey dress pants and a white cotton tank top, not dissimilar to the one Simon saw him in last night. 

No amount of rummaging through wires and messing with a motherboard could fix the microwave, he concluded. And only when Simon begins to reassemble the machine does Markus make any move to speak to him. 

“Are you finished?” 

He started towards Simon and the kitchen, his ankles brushing the two pillows that sat on the ground. His elbows were perched on the marble while Simon finished screwing in the last of the screws. His blond bangs were hanging over his eyes limply. Simon grunted in affirmation. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t really find anything wrong with it, so I’ll be sure to order a new one as soon as I get back.” Simon zipped up the toolbag, eyes glancing over Markus’ figure. He ducked behind him and strode towards the loveseat, picking us the pillows and placing them perfectly on either side of the couch. Habit. Simon’s eyes were now pointed towards the door.

“Oh.” 

Simon froze for a split second before carefully resuming the shuffling of his feet. His non-slip shoes suddenly felt heavy, like quicksand was overtaking him, pleading for him not to leave the room. That definitely wasn’t the response Simon was expecting. Markus still hadn’t moved or even turned towards him, and Simon wasn’t sure what to do. What he dissatisfied about the microwave? Had he done something wrong? A million and one questions swirled around in Simon’s head, threatening to spill over and escape through his mouth. His jaw snapped closed—a definite precaution.

Simon grabbed the handle of the door, checking his pockets mindlessly to make sure he didn’t forget anything. He swore he could hear Markus mumbling something as he opened the door. 

At about halfway closed, a sound behind him made him jump. Simon stopped the door from slamming closed with his left hand, the other clutching the toolbag to his chest. 

“Wait—“ Simon stood there still just like Markus had asked. After a brief moment of silence, Simon deemed that the man hadn't wanted to say anything at all. Maybe he’d check in on him tomorrow. Or the next. He did have a microwave to deliver, anyways.

 

-

 

The rest of the day went by smoothly and without conflict from 248. It was quite a relaxing rest of the evening, taking inventory in the supply closets in the east wing and momentarily picking up trash from the patio. He had only seen glances of North and Kara, but he seemed to run into Connor every so often. He didn’t miss the slight smirk on his face whenever they passed each other in the hallways.

Simon helped the business group with their catering, but he didn’t stay for long. Connor and North quickly took over, a proud Fowler stood at watch behind them. Anything to bring them back next month for another business trip, it seems. But Simon wasn’t there now. He was here. 

Stepping into his apartment at night was always going to be a challenge. The spacious rooms that echoed with every step he took will always put images in his head that keep him lying awake at night for hours. He wasn’t sure if it was insomnia or pure fear that kept him from getting any shut-eye, but at any rate, the very few hours of sleep he gets will sure begin to rack up. 

Sound. He needed sound. Something to fill up the space where he couldn’t fill it himself. 

He set his coat on the kitchen table, toeing off his shoes near the front door. The keys he unhooked from his belt loop made a noise that made his shoulders bunch up tightly around his neck. He placed them in a bowl next to the kitchen counter and quickly made his way to the living room and onto the vacant couch. The small radio that sat on the coffee table was immediately switched on, and with a little tweaking, the sound poured into the room and bounced off the bare walls and into his ears. Classical wasn’t his first choice, but it sounded nice so he didn’t mind it for a moment. 

Changing stations was an experience. Through the years, radio mostly died out while being replaced with a much more reliable wavelength. Simon had only successfully received two or three steady stations: classical, mid-2000’s rock, and jazz. His favorite was easily the latter, the smooth sounds of all the brass and woodwind instruments paired with the slapping of the bass lines never failed to lull him into a deep atmospheric dream state. He found it to be the only cure to his insomnia on most nights. Of course, there were exceptions, but the smile that appeared on his face when the host announced that it was around 3AM and time for the late-night talk shows finally allowed him to rest.


End file.
